


Strings of Hair, Pegs of Bone

by Luzula



Category: due South
Genre: Creepy Folk Tales, F/M, Gen, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser tells stories in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings of Hair, Pegs of Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-Victoria's Secret. This was meant to be for the [](http://dsc6dsnippets.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://dsc6dsnippets.dreamwidth.org/)**dsc6dsnippets** challenge, inspired by "harp" and "bark", but alas, it grew too long and I couldn't trim it down. And yes, I know, I'm obsessed with the Child ballads.

Ray sighed. "Three hours left."

"And no sign of Zimmerman." Fraser looked at Ray, slouched in the driver's seat of the Riv. "Want me to tell you a story?"

"Sure." Ray looked out into the cold winter night and shivered. "Just--no Inuit stories, okay?"

"All right." Fraser dredged his mind for European folktales.

"Once upon a time, there were two sisters. One had hair as the darkest coal, and the other was fair as the day." Absurd dichotomy, really. Still, he saw the dark hair swirling in his mind.

"They were washing down by the river--" Fraser told of how they quarreled over a man, and how the dark sister pushed the other in, how she was carried by the river, how she drowned, how the harper found her body. How he shaped it into a harp. "He played the harp. He played his fingers to the quick, on the strings of fair hair, the pegs of fingerbone."

Ray stirred. "What's with the severed fingers? Why are there severed fingers in all your stories?"

"Not all," Fraser protested. Though yes, there was Sedna and the chopped-off fingers, turning into seals. He went on.

"He could play the bark from the hardest trees, and the water from the river, and the child from the mother's breast. Such was the power of the harp. They came to the dark sister's wedding, and he played at the feast. But the harp had a will of its own, and told the story of her sister's betrayal."

Fraser fell silent.

"So what happened to her? The dark sister?" Ray prompted.

Fraser finished the story, strangely reluctant. "She was burned at the stake."

"Jeez, talk about creepy. Don't you know any upbeat stories?" Ray sat up, pulled the blanket around his shoulders.

"Apparently not." Fraser sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uneasy."

They fell silent again. He'd told Ray a true story, once, but Ray had fallen asleep, and he didn't think he had the heart to tell that story again. So instead, he told folktales about dark-haired women. Not that this one had anything to do with her, really.

He closed his eyes, saw again the dark hair swirling in his mind.


End file.
